The Pleasure Garden: Sacred Vows\Perfumed Pleasures\Rites of Passions (2 page)

Edmund’s cup slipped from his hands and rolled down the hill, and he stood to retrieve it. Over the heads of the enamored audience his eyes met with those of the lovely maiden he’d seen earlier. The sounds of the play and the intense desire he felt swelling pushed him through the crowd, seeking an escape from the seduction of the play. He found a space beyond the crowd and took a gulp of air to settle his nerves.

“Come in here, boy. I have what you need.” A woman called to him from a tented sanctuary across the road. She pulled down her bodice, exposing her plump breasts.

Edmund turned away, needing time to think. He hastened toward the outer edge of the festival and came to rest near a grove of trees. Deep fingers of purple began to stretch across the pink horizon. Passion surrounded him, wanton and sensual. Not exactly the kind of place for a young man about to go into the pastoral life. But his parents had given him no choice. The priesthood would bring both wealth and social stature to him and his family. He was torn—torn between what they wanted and what he wanted, right now. He was a young man in his prime; should he not be allowed a little taste of life’s pleasures?

His eyes were drawn to a flickering light in a clearing beyond the trees. He entered the wood, aware of how the sounds of the festival grew faint, and curious to know what
lay ahead. He emerged to find a small stone abbey, and nearby, the crumbling shell of a castle with one tower still standing as sentinel over what appeared to be a dormant garden.

A movement caught Edmund’s eye as a brown-robed monk began lighting the tall torches that hovered a head above him. As the flames began to illuminate the area, Edmund noted the path of a massive circular maze made of small stones. Surely this was part of a pagan ritual, but the purpose of the maze intrigued him.

“Do ye seek quiet fer yer soul, my son?” A lilting voice came from beneath the monk’s hood.

Edmund stared down at the man, unable to see the monk’s face, but feeling the heat of his words as much as the torch that he held. “It is true, Father, my soul is unsettled.”

“Aye, I sensed as much. Passionate men quite often find themselves lost in their purpose. You must walk the labyrinth, my son. Let the silence speak to you. Listen to your heart. It will lead you to your destiny.” The monk turned and walked away.

“But how will I know what is the truth?” Edmund called after him.

The bow-backed man looked over his shoulder. “If it is truth you seek, then the truth you shall find. You need only listen.”

Edmund frowned, and looked about him, searching for anyone else nearby, but there was not another soul around. “Is it always so desolate here?” He turned back to the monk and found himself alone.

Though he didn’t take to heart the old man’s word, he decided the solitude might help his perspective. He stepped inside the ring and methodically followed its narrow path.
Determined, Edmund tried to empty his mind of the soft moans he heard through the trees, reminding him of the sinful lust occurring within the woods. He turned his mind to his family, and the hopes they had for his future—one that would bring them better social and political connections with the king of England. He was to leave in a few days to begin his teachings, and yet it seemed an eternity away.

A twig snapping nearby caught his attention, and he searched the twilight shadows, thinking perhaps that the old man had returned. Instead, his eyes locked with those of the beautiful maiden he’d seen at the festival, and all previous thought ceased to exist.

Cara Ormond’s heart pounded in her chest. Her father’s wary concern flashed in her mind as she remembered how she’d begged and pleaded to attend the festival. Only when her older sister, Kiernan, agreed to let her accompany her and her betrothed to the faire did their father relent, but with a stern warning to both daughters. “Do not think I am unaware of what goes on at the festival. The two of you stay together and be wise of trouble.”

No sooner had they arrived at the celebration than Kiernan kissed her sister, bidding her farewell. “Mind ye, Cara, stay away from trouble. You heard Da.”

“And the same to you. Where are you off to, then?”

Her sister smiled impishly, squirming in her lover’s tight embrace. “We’ll be a-mayin’, of course. Be good.” And Cara had watched them run into the woods. She was happy for them, and true, they were within a few weeks of wedding, yet Cara couldn’t help feel a twinge of melancholy. Things were changing, and she felt restless, yearning for someone special herself.

She pushed aside the concerns of her family, pondering for the span of a heartbeat the wisdom of her actions here at the abbey. She’d sensed something different about this young man, with his broad shoulders and hair the color of straw, from the first. He’d stared at her as though she were a ripe peach. He did not speak as she’d passed him at the faire, though his friend smiled with blatant admiration. A backward glance confirmed the blond man’s interest, and he’d smiled as he held her gaze until she turned away, her cheeks aflame. Cara had tried to forget the episode, finding delight in watching a skit retelling the Gaelic tale of the forbidden triangle of the May Queen, the Winter King and her lover, the Green Man. However, the torrid affair, played well by the acting troupe, did little to quell her curiosity about the gray-eyed man or her lustful thoughts of him. After sampling some wine and wandering about the festival she saw him enter the woods, and she’d followed, hoping he wasn’t going to meet a maiden. Cara had no idea where he was from, though she suspected him to be English, given that she would have certainly remembered him from any of the nearby villages. And if that were so, despite that her da called the new edict “cow dung,” he was at risk for breaking the orders sent down from the English crown, mandating separation between Gaels and the English settlers in Dublin.

But as Cara watched him silently from the shadows, she felt certain the Mother Goddess had fashioned this meeting and so, drawing a deep breath, she took a step forward, a brittle twig breaking under her foot revealing her presence. Despite his lingering glance, Cara averted her eyes, stepped onto the path and followed the maze. She focused on the sound of her leather slippers brushing over the soft earth. This was a sacred place, respected for private meditation,
and with no talking permitted within the perimeters, she could not even ask his name.

The longer they walked, the more Cara sensed the powerful magic of the labyrinth and the festival, calling to her to listen to the whispers of her heart. Around the circle, passing close but not touching, they moved in silence. Cara chewed the corner of her lip, aware of her nakedness beneath her kirtle, where she’d not thought of it before. A delicious shiver slithered between her thighs as she swerved, following the path that led back to the center of the maze. It was odd, this dance she found herself in with a handsome stranger, yet it stirred her emotions, urging, demanding.

Her throat grew dry. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, and she found herself sneaking glances at him, only to find him doing the same. Her fingers fisted the fabric of her gown, holding up her hem so she could see the path. She quickened her steps, noting how he stumbled slightly when they met side by side on their separate walks. Her eyes were drawn to the tented hood of his brocs and she caught her breath, smacked with a powerful jolt of desire. Cara battled the war between it and her father’s insistence that a woman’s purity was her most precious gift and should not to be given to just anyone. In the distance, the sensual sound of the
bodhran
drum kept beat with the increasing thrum in her chest, seducing her, coaxing her to follow her desires.

Forbidden.

The word served more as an enticement than a warning. Cara scanned the area, the idea of being alone with him festering in her brain. Aware of the tension mounting between them, she felt her sensitive breasts tighten, responding in arousal to her thoughts. She wanted to embrace her first Beltane in the same manner she’d seen so many others
do today, free of rules and restrictions, celebrating the earthly pleasures that life has to offer. She’d sampled the wine, the food, the entertainment, and now she wanted to take the next step, proving that she was no longer a child, but a grown woman.

She spied a small grove of fruit trees, and beyond, what appeared in the flickering light of the torches to be a shriveled up hedge with a wooden gate. Glancing over her shoulder, she lifted the hem of her gown again and hurried toward it, hoping the man would follow her. Whether prompted by the goddess Mother Earth, too much wine or her own desire, she was not afraid to lose her maidenhead. And who better to do so with than a complete stranger?

She pushed through the gate, letting her eyes adjust to the change from torchlight to the ghostly illumination of moonlight. She’d heard of the crumbled shell of a castle, with its lone tower, abandoned long ago by the Romans. The druid priests who later settled here had built a small stone gathering place and created the labyrinth for contemplation. The heavy wood gate slammed behind her and Cara clutched her gown, determined to follow through with her quest. She moved cautiously forward, noting that the once royal garden now showed very little signs of life within its walls, filled now with dry brambles and brush. Not allowing her brain to second-guess her desire, she searched for a perfect spot where they could be together, for the first time wondering if he was any more experienced in the ways of the flesh than she was.

She pressed forward and found herself in what had perhaps been a small courtyard. A stone fountain, set among some overgrown vegetation near the tower, stood as its focal point, embellished with the sculpture of two lovers entwined in an intimate embrace. Cara stopped at its base,
staring at the man and woman, seeing the moon reflected in the water left from a recent rain. As she studied the woman’s face, the fragrance of roses seemed to waft in the air, and a chill ran up Cara’s arms. She hugged herself, wondering if she was mad to be flirting with something so dangerous. What if she’d imagined the fair-haired man’s interest, and even now he was off to find his friend? She bent down, dipping her hands in the cool water, splashing it against her heated cheeks. Perhaps he thought her foolish for running off as she had. Would he bother to try and find her? Cara closed her eyes, seeing him in her mind, wanting to taste those lips—just once. She lifted her arms over her head and gazed up the star-sprinkled night.

A gentle voice whispered on the breeze.
I am the wind, softly caressing your hair, the breath near your ear. Whispering the words you long to hear.

Cara’s body surrendered to the sound of ancient music and she began to sway, lost in its seductive rhythm. She danced around the statue, celebrating the couple’s union, wishing for a lover of her own.

2

EDMUND SQUEEZED HIS EYES SHUT. THIS GIRL had done nothing to encourage these rebellious emotions, but had appeared innocently as angel and temptress both, causing him to break out in a feverish sweat. Reason bade him to turn and walk away, go find Gregory and head back to Dublin, none the wiser about how her lips might taste, how soft her skin might feel beneath his hands. What was happening to him? Was it some pagan magic luring him to sin, or the seedlings of his own wayward desires—prompted by Gregory’s insistence to enjoy himself before taking his vows?

The old monk’s words pervaded his thoughts:
If it is truth you seek, then it will find you. You need only listen.

Fists clenched at his sides, Edmund felt the seeds of a higher truth begin to sharpen in his mind. What if this was the truth? Perhaps fate had brought them together. The possibility existed that he was trying to justify his carnal thoughts. Of course, what else could it be? Surely this could not be love, for it was folly to think that love could be conceived from a single look.

The deafening silence only made Edmund’s attempt at
denial worse. It was as though he heard her heartbeat and felt the softness of her breath on his skin. Or was it the wind and the pounding of his heart deluding him? He was not like Gregory, able to catch a woman’s eye, and with nothing more than a smile, have her freely offer him favor. That was Gregory, unashamed and without fear of consequence.

Edmund swallowed with difficulty. The more he searched for a reason to avoid giving in to his reckless thoughts, the louder the voice of seduction became.

Contemplation. Redemption. Purification.

“You’re no better than a savage,” he muttered quietly, verbally flogging himself for the way he’d watched her breasts sway gently with her determined gait. His fingers itched as he imagined the weight of them in his palms, brushing his thumbs over their pert tips. Edmund licked lips gone as dry as his throat from his perverse musings. In a few days he was to begin a journey of devotion and self-denial to the ways of the flesh, and yet he found a shred of justification for his thoughts. Was there anything more pure, more beautiful than the consummation of two hearts?

He came to a stop, realizing that he could die before morning without having known the joy of being in a woman’s arms, or of sacrificing his life in servitude. Was it not his right to understand the great mystery between a man and woman, so that he might use his experience to guide his future flock?

It was all clear to him now.
This
was the truth he sought, the truth he was meant to find.

Edmund drew in a deep breath. Having seen her disappear among the trees near the castle tower, he quickened his pace, fearful that he might lose her without ever
knowing her name. His heart thudded against his ribs as he trotted the length of the glen, then paused to peer into the dusky shadows among the fruit trees. A flash of white caught his eye, vanishing through a wooden gate flanked by a tall hedge of tangled growth. He hurried forward, then stubbed his toe against something nestled in the thick grass. He stooped down to pry it loose from the earth, and, brushing away the dirt, held it up to the dim light of the rising moon.